Fragments of the Old Kingdom
by Sou7h
Summary: Part I: Leonel Black led a simple but modest life. That is, until the Court arrived in Albion. Novelization of the Tales of Albion section of the same name. On hiatus.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** So I'm actually still alive. This is is the first piece of writing i've done in a while. Hope it measures up. R&R!

**Disclaimer:** No, I don't own Fable, its characters, etc etc. I dont own _Tales of Albion_ either. But I love that some questions I've always had have finally been answered in there!

Tales of Albion: /fable2/TalesofAlbion/Default/aspx

_Legend has it that, when the world was young, Albion was a peaceful land full of tranquility and beauty. Then three came from the Void: the Knight, the Queen, and the Jack of Blades. They coveted Albion and demanded that all men bow down before them._

– _Tales of Albion, Reign of the Court_

How humans squandered their gifts.

Even from birth, they relied excessively on sight only, so much that their other senses were dulled. Had they ever listened – truly listened – to the quiet murmur of a stream or the rustle of oak leaves, they would know how much their kind wasted. The difference was that of water and wine.

But Jack of Blades was not human. With his eyes closed, he could feel every flake of snow that fell upon his shoulders through his red cloak. He could hear the whistle of a songbird far below and the rustle of its wings in flight. He could smell the delicate fragrance of a mountain flower where it swayed at the foot of a cliff.

"What are you doing over there?" A rough voice grumbled. The Knight of Blades, impatient as always.

Jack opened his eyes. Even here, atop a mountain, the sights weren't nearly as interesting as everything else.

He turned to face his companion. Before he could answer, the Queen of Blades gave a girlish giggle. The trill was higher than the songbird's, but less pleasant.

"Patience my knight. Little Jack has a point. This world is the prettiest we've been to so far."

_Little Jack_. He repressed a flicker of annoyance. Proud he may be, but he was not a proud fool; the Queen's abilities surpassed his own. For now.

She was right in any case. This world was leagues beyond those they had conquered in diversity and vivacity. It was a crown jewel with vivid colours reflected in its endless depths.

He coveted it. And he looked forward to the day it would be his.

Once more he opened his ears and his mind to its beauty. He listened across oceans and deserts, through forests and valleys and still did not find what he sought. He listened the turning of wheels and grinding of gears and the ticking of hearts and minds. He listened to the currents of life as it ebbed and flowed, touching everything in existence. The noise was a chorus of voices weaving together in perfect harmony. Listening to the entire symphony, Jack found its conductor.

"Albion," he said aloud. "This world's name is Albion."

The Queen of Blades leapt off the boulder ten feet in the air and landed just as gracefully. The dust beneath her feet had not stirred. "Lovely."

The Knight hefted his sword. "I don't care for its name. All that matters is that it will be ours soon, just like all the others."

_Mine._ "Yes," Jack agreed. "Soon."

- - -

Leonel Black straightened up from his work. Today had treated him well. He ploughed the field, fed his livestock and planted a few rows of corn. He bartered for a good deal on bread. On top of it all, the clouds promised rain in the evening. It didn't take anything more to please a simple farmer who lived on the edge of town.

He returned to his house, whistling as he went. It was a small box of wood and thatch, but it was cozy enough.

"Welcome home."

Ciana, his wife. Everything about her was soft. Her lips as they pressed against his cheek. The warm glow of her dark eyes. The curve of her neck and the few strands of hair that floated there.

He could ask for a better house. He could ask for better crops. He could not ask for a better wife.

Dinner was ready and he was hungry after a good day's work. Leonel was halfway to the basin when a breeze burst through the windows. The panes snapped back as far as their hinges would allow as it swept through the house. The trees outside bent their boughs.

In all his life he had never felt anything like it. The cold was palpable. It reached out and gripped his throat. It stroked his spine with an icy finger. It was outside of him, chilling his skin, and inside of him, squeezing his heart. And then it was gone.

"Leonel." He looked across to find Ciana wordlessly asking for reassurance. Her husband couldn't bring himself to make her worry. Not with their son on the way.

"It must be the storm," he reasoned. "Wind always precedes a storm."

But he had a gut feeling something worse than a storm was coming.

This was proved when he checked on his livestock. The chicken coop was a flurry of feathers and agitated squawks. The pigs strained to escape from their pen. Worst of all were the horses. Their eyes rolled wildly in their sockets and foam frothed at the corners of their mouths. It took the better part of an hour to calm them all down.

What was going on?

His neighbour brought gossip and news of a meeting at the main square. Apparently, everyone had felt it but no one knew what it was. And now all the citizens wanted to discuss it.

At sunset, Leonel said goodbye to his wife and made his way into town.

He had never seen a town meeting so crowded. Every inch of space was taken and he found himself surrounded, standing shoulder to shoulder with total strangers. Every breath stank of nervousness and sweat.

Throngs of people all spoke at once and the noise was a constant buzz. The theories Leonel heard ranged from marginally possible to ridiculously absurd.

"Citizens of Albion," a voice that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once announced. "Your masters have arrived."

The sight of tens of people swivelling their heads this way and that might have been amusing, except for the fact that Leonel was equally confused.

Moments later, he was almost blinded by three columns of brilliant light. Squinting, he could just make out three silhouettes. Then the light faded and he could see the three persons for who they were.

One was a great, hulking man covered from shoulders to toe in metal plates. Leering at him from beneath a hood of chainmail was a grotesque mask. It was a simple design: a smiling face bleeding from its eyes.

The second was slighter: the shape of an athlete or an acrobat. Apart from his armour, he wore a blood red cloak that shrouded his head and shoulders. He too had a mask; it was fashioned in the likeness of a skull.

The last was clearly feminine from the way her robes clung to her body. She had no armour. The men carried swords but she only had a fan. Despite all this, Leonel doubted she was any less dangerous than the other two. Her mask was a face divided into two parts, with alternating black and white features.

The farmer was bewildered. _Swords? Armour? Exactly what do they want?_

"Greetings, loyal subjects," the female said.

"And who are you?" Someone cried out from the crowd.

"Why I am the Queen of Blades," she replied. "And with me are the Knight of Blades" – she motioned to the colossal man to her left – "and the Jack of Blades" – she gestured towards her other companion on the right. "We are the Court. And we expect, like any royalty would from their subjects, fitting tributes."

"And what if we do not bow down like tame animals? What if we refuse to do your bidding?" It was Leonel who shouted this. It surprised even himself; he didn't know where this sudden anger against these three came from. He only knew that he felt it. And it made him brave.

"You will," the Knight said. His voice was bass to the Queen's soprano. "Or you will suffer the consequences of challenging us."

"What if we'd rather challenge you?" Again, the reckless bravery. "What if we are proud and will not bow down just because you demand it?" This time, the crowd roared its agreement.

The Knight unsheathed his sword but the Queen stayed his hand. "There will be no bloodshed today," she stated. "I do not wish to be the ruler of rubble and ash. But if you refuse to meet our demands, I promise you that you will regret this."

"We'll take our chances!" Someone yelled. It didn't matter who anymore; the crowd was united. One voice could speak for all.

The Jack of Blades stared at Leonel and the farmer could just make out malignant yellow eyes blazing in the mask. "Then when you look back on this day, remember that it was you who brought suffering upon yourselves."

And in a blaze of blue light, the Court was gone.

- - -

Jack closed his eyes, listening to Albion and all its inhabitants. It was done. Already, so much had changed – was still changing. The gears were set in motion and soon there would be destruction. It might have been called a war, but wars were not so one-sided.

Of course, the Court could have killed as many of them as they fancied at that particular moment in the town. The Knight of Blades would have liked nothing more. But where was the fun in killing something so defenceless? It would give no more satisfaction than squashing insects underfoot. No, the real challenge, and satisfaction lay in achieving victory through other means.

But one man perplexed him. Jack found his name. This Leonel Black seemed completely human at first glance: he was a simple farmer with brown hair, clear blue eyes and pregnant wife. But searching deeper in his soul, Jack of Blades found that he had a single-minded determination and, most surprisingly, a tiny connection to the Will. But the man had no idea how to channel this gift or even that it existed.

One thing was for sure: Jack looked forward to breaking him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer**: I don't own anything from Fable. It all belongs to Lionhead (me thinks).

* * *

They could have chosen anywhere, any testament to the beauty they had claimed as theirs: the placid mirror of the lake, the tinkling music of the forest stream or sandy bars dotted with tide pools like glittering emeralds.

But instead they withdrew to Mount Ruon. Dreary, desolate Mount Ruon. From here, the men were ants, the lakes mere slivers of glass. It might as well have been the lake for all it fed her vanity. And of course, the Knight was content to follow, partly because he wanted to hunt the dangerous mountain beasts and partly because he would was content to please the Queen.

Jack was not.

"Coming?" The Knight stood by the entrance of the cave they were in. Jack was surprised he had asked at all.

"No." Hunting was distasteful. The bloodsport yielded no beneficial results, just a disgusting, foul-smelling corpse.

"Your loss, Little Jack." The Knight laughed and was gone, leaving only silence and an irate immortal being in his place.

The Queen stared at him, her eyes – with vertical pupils like a cat's – glowing dimly. It persisted, even when he glared back. Had the Knight been present, he would have misinterpreted the stare and been jealous. She wanted something from him.

It was petty, but he could not resist this contest of pride, this show of strength.

She stepped toward him with her customary grace. Her robes flowed over her body, accentuating her every curve. The Queen had no need of a face beyond her mask; the sight of her alone was enough to seduce any mortal man's heart and sate his every whim with false promises. Her beauty was sweet venom.

"I think we should forget about Albion. I think we should concentrate on here...and us," she breathed quietly. Her voice beckoned to him.

With her, she brought a heavy, floral perfume that overwhelmed his senses and chased away his thoughts. He forgot that she was his bitter rival. He forgot the place and time, the fact that the Knight of Blades could return at any moment. His worries evaporated like smoke. All Jack knew, needed or could ever want was the intoxicating scent of the Queen.

"What should we do?" He advanced eagerly. He wanted to drink the scent in, collect it to keep.

"We can do anything we want." The passions he felt escalated into a raging whirlwind. But before he could make a move, the Queen raised her finger. "But first, I want to ask you a question."

With difficulty, Jack reined in his emotions. "Anything."

"I want to know, do you want me?"

What question was that? His whisper was heavy with lust as he answered, "Yes."

"Would you give anything – absolutely anything I want – to make me happy?"

More questions. "Yes."

"Promise me."

Jack shuddered with poorly concealed anticipation. The final, binding words perched precariously on his lips.

An agonized, beastly howl echoed through the cavern. By the time he turned to face the mouth of the cave, the Knight of Blades was already there.

"A gift," the heavily-armoured figure bowed before tossing a carcass at the Queen's feet, who was back in her original position with as cool and calm a veneer as if she had been there the entire time.

"What is it?" She asked.

"Something disgusting and foul: a gift truly fitting for you." The spell was broken. Black anger boiled inside of him at how he had swallowed her false promises like a gullible human child and almost willingly fallen into her trap.

The wild animal had been reduced to a mass of muscle and fur that was stained pink with blood. To see a great beast so helpless and undignified was pathetic. But of course, all things were ugly when dead. The eyes were closed but the mouth gaped wide open, frozen in a bellow of – what? Rage? Pain? The fight wouldn't have been a contest at all, let alone an interesting one. Jack suppressed a wave of distaste. The creature was now only wasted and useless.

"Watch your mouth." The Knight stepped towards him, his hand over the hilt of his sword.

The Queen of Blades laid a gloved hand on his arm. "I think it's beautiful. Never mind him, my knight. He's just being a sourpuss after our little talk." The warrior held Jack's furious gaze with curiosity, no doubt wondering what the "little talk" was about.

The Queen, however, had walked to the head of the dead beast. She flicked her wrist in a single, swift motion. The fan she held, cloth ribbed with thin metal strips that ended in wicked points. Those strips, sharper than any mortal blade, decapitated the carcass cleanly. With a flourish, she placed the head on a pedestal of rock like a proud hunter mounting his trophy.

"Let's call it Jack," she trilled.

She and the Knight laughed as Jack felt his fury grow.

* * *

"So what do you think about all this, Leonel?"

It was mid-afternoon and Leonel, along with his neighbour Phineas, was filling in potholes in the main road that had enlarged due to yesterday's rain. It was hard, sweaty work and it took him a full minute to understand what his fellow farmer had said.

"I don't really know what to think."

"You must have thought of something." Phineas paused to stretch his back. "You know, Jenson is saying the Court won't let his crops grow and intends to starve him. Paris is calling for blood. And Clarence thinks they'll leave us alone if we give them some of our harvest."

The atmosphere was tense in Albion. The farmers did the only thing they knew how: they went back to work, the thought of the Court heavy on their minds. It had been days now, but Leonel doubted it was an empty threat.

Leonel grunted; he was too tired to laugh. "Jenson works hard, but he's a senile old man. Paris is too impulsive and doesn't think things through. As for Clarence's idea – something tells me that people who can appear and disappear whenever they like don't want to negotiate."

Phineas frowned as he dumped a shovelful of dirt. "All you've done is criticize everyone else's opinion. What's yours?"

"I think that there's nothing we can do – not right now, when we don't know what we're dealing with. No one knows anything about these people and no one has ever met them before. The only thing we can do is wait."

* * *

The Queen stood at the mouth of the cave, her feet just touching the edge of the cliff. From here, she could just glimpse a smudge of orange light in the town. Fire. Well if they wanted fire, she would give it to them.

"Burn it."

Both Jack and the Knight looked up, but it was Jack that spoke. "What?"

"Albion is made of farmers. Farmers depend on land. So burn the land."

The Knight nodded and jumped off at once. Jack, however, lingered.

The Queen sighed. "Oh, don't be so put out, Jack. It wasn't anything personal."

"Personal?" He hissed. "How was that not personal?"

She had never seen him this mad before. It amused her slightly. "Come now, I'm no fool. I know you and I know that you're plotting something. I just happened to beat you to it with a little scheme of my own."

"One day, I will kill you. And you will never see it coming."

She turned to face the animal head, leaving her back to him. "You should leave before the Knight notices."

"Very well, _my Queen_." His voice was all ice.

"And Jack?"

"Yes?"

"If you ever defy me, there will be more than one Jack's head standing on the pedestal."

* * *

Thousands of miles away, someone yelled "fire" and two farmers dropped their shovels and ran towards the blaze of orange flame.


End file.
